


Troublemaker(s)

by tjstar



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Allergies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance, Sickfic, Sneezing, Van Days, patrick is nervous, pete is literally a shoulder to cry on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick tries his best not to look like a five-year-old with tear-stained puffy eyes. <em>Not in front of Pete. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Troublemaker(s)

Patrick sniffs for the millionth time in these five minutes and wipes his nose with his sleeve, hoping that these traitorous tears on his eyes aren’t so noticeable. Shit. No, it’s not because Patrick is a cry-baby, and his day was very rough, no — he’s just allergic, and it’s spring, and trees, bushes and all kinds of pollen don’t make his state better. There is nothing funny in being allergic when he is on the road in a good old van with three dorks who are always ready to make some ‘friendly’ jokes about his _specific_ perception of the world. Of course, Patrick is gonna be okay before the performance, he tries his best not to look like a five-year-old with tear-stained puffy eyes. _Not in front of Pete._

Unfortunately, Patrick ran out of his regular pills, because he simply forgot to buy them in the pharmacy at their last stop, and his nasal spray isn’t working so well. Patrick guesses his voice will sound ~~terrible~~ not good enough, and he has to hide his reddened eyes under his bangs and cap, looking like a typical emo-kid’s supposed to look. He really regrets about the lack of those anti-allergy meds. Besides, they have a nice side effect — after taking them, Patrick feels like he’s ready to fall asleep even in vertical position, holding onto the microphone stand. Well, it’s weird, but at least Patrick feels way too calm, and his sleepiness gets him through the worst episodes of a stage fright he is still suffering from. And his runny nose stops acting like Niagara Fall.

Yes, Patrick is an optimist, and he can find advantages even in some bad things. 

He wishes he could run away right after their set tonight.

After the last evening’s concert, some girl gave him a bouquet of flowers, and Patrick just politely turned away and sneezed, covering his face with his palms, instead of saying ‘thank you’; Pete laughed and took the flowers gratefully, and that girl looked kind of embarrassed. The moral is: beautiful flowers don’t always help to make somebody’s private life better. Especially for a young-rock-star-and-allergic-at-the-same-time Patrick Stump.     

Patrick ruins another tissue and carefully shoves it into the box with the pile of already used ones under the van seat; none of the guys really bothers of hygiene, so things like this are pretty normal for all of them. Four days without a shower, really, Patrick suspects he can forget about making any of his teenage dreams come true, but hey — he can’t breathe through his nose, and it means that he’s lucky — he can’t smell the odor. 

At the moment, Joe is driving, and obviously, Andy is watching him, discussing about new comics collection. It’s the middle of the day, and Patrick stares in the window not to stare at Pete who sits next to him with his headphones on and texts to someone; Patrick smirks slightly, remembering their first meetings. Joe literally locked them in his basement to ‘practice’, and Patrick said his ‘no’. Next day, Pete came to Patrick’s house with a bunch of different wildflowers. Patrick wasn’t so pleased. But that’s the fact — Pete has a magical charm, and now Patrick is a part of Pete’s crazy idea; it’s mostly cool, especially when Patrick’s respiratory system isn’t trying to kill him.

Fuzzy picture outside the dirty window swims, and suddenly it makes Patrick calm and relaxed; his itchy eyelids are tired from being open, so he blinks and lets himself close them. Someone will shake him awake when it’s his turn to drive.

Patrick can’t fugure out how long he’d managed to sleep, but the van jumps up on the bump on the road, and everything in the vehicle jumps up too. Waking up, Patrick realizes his head rests on Pete’s skinny shoulder, and Pete’s arm wrapped around his middle not to let him fall.  Amazing. Patrick sniffs automatically, rubs his face and sits up, slapping Pete’s hand as he attempts to pat his back encouragingly.

“Trohman, what the hell? Be careful, please,” Patrick grumbles to the driver’s seat.

“It’s not me, it’s Andy,” according to Joe’s voice, he grins.

“What? I just parked like a professional,” Andy laughs, tapping the drumsticks against the steering wheel. “Let’s grab our instruments and make the real show!”

Patrick snorts as Pete playfully knocks his baseball cap down to his eyes.

“Cheer up! You always have us to cover you,” Pete squeezes Patrick in his hug as he says so.

“Uh, nice,” Patrick mumbles and tries to turn to the door to get out and take their guitarcases.

And find more tissues would be great.

 

***

Before the performance in the evening, Patrick feels a little better, but only because his allergy stops bothering him so violently. Saying about his state at all — he’s nervous and also homesick, and he’s kind of scared of his own future, and shit — he’s still too young to be a rock-star, unlike That Famous Pete Wentz.

Joe smokes, and Andy glares at him; Patrick winces as he imagines the smell of the cigarette smoke, he’s grateful that he can’t feel it right now. Patrick bites his fingers until it hurts, he really understands Pete with his pills and bipolar disorder; there are no completely normal people in their band, maybe, except for Andy who’s ready to kick Joe’s ass for his bad habits.

Maybe, all of them are just little kids.

Patrick shrugs and pretends he’s okay when Pete asks him what’s wrong. _‘I can’t breathe properly like all this month, I think I’m gonna cry, I’M FINE THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!’_

The lead singer wordlessly sets up his guitar; his mood is awful, and even though Patrick knows it might ruin the concert, he can’t stop panicking.

As a result, Patrick messes up the show. He sings the wrong lyrics, plays wrong chords, and Joe, spinning with his guitar, accidentally elbows his ribs during the seventh or eighth song, and Patrick misses the bit, gasping for air. But the crowd is sweet and not really big. They try to sing along and they clap, and Pete as a good friend and frontman, talks to them while Patrick turns away and fucking _sneezes_ , wishing to be burned alive. His chest’s filled up with anxious energy, and his throat is sorely dry as he drinks the water.  

“This guy, you know,” Pete waves his bass in Patrick’s direction; wiping his palms on his jeans, he catches this with his peripheral vision. “He’s a music genius, I’m so glad he agreed to join us!”

Patrick frowns, brushes away his angry tears habitually and tries hard to hold them back; because of this stupid pollen allergy he can’t enjoy all the seasons of the year. He thinks, he’s really close to get a panic attack. Again. His bandmates always handle the problems better than him; Andy is unflappable, Joe — the youngest of them — definitely enjoys his rock-star-style, and Pete as a great narrator can find a contact with any crowd.

“Less words, more music, Pete,” Patrick comes back to the microphone stand and tugs the guitar strap on his shoulder, sighing; his voice is just unable to sound right, and Patrick feels so guilty about it.

But the show must go on, really.

Mentally, Patrick apologizes almost non-stop, but during the last song Pete comes to him and suddenly kisses him on the neck; Pete’s lips are strangely dry against Patrick’s hot skin, sticky with sweat, and this act promptly distracts him from his pointless speech he repeats in his head over and over again.

After the set, they just pack their bags and instruments and walk out of the club; Patrick sees Joe flirting with some girl, but Andy grabs him by the back of his t-shirt and leads him to the van. Patrick highfives with some guy on his way, hears whisperings behind his back, coming from the group of girls, but he doesn’t pay attention. He follows his friends as he feels a touch against his hand, and it makes Patrick almost jump out of his dark thoughts back to reality. It’s Pete, and Patrick guesses it’s pretty weird that he learned his touches, he can’t stop thinking about that onstage-kiss — it was just a trick, wasn’t it? As they pass by a big flowerbed, Patrick feels like he’s about to sneeze again; he rubs his nose intensively and pinches the nostrils only to keep himself from doing this.

They are on the road again, it’s their first almost-official-van-tour, even if they look more like a strolling musicians than like real rock-stars. Tomorrow will be another day, another town, another concert and — if Patrick forgets to buy normal meds to treat his allergy — another fails.

When Pete stops the van near the 24/7 supermarket to go get some /‘unhealthy’ for others and something vegan for Andy/ food, guitarist and drummer stumble inside the shop to check out the assortment and prices. It’s pretty dark on the street, and Patrick just gets out lazily, leans against the cold metal side of the van and throws his head back as he uses that nasal spray, trying to deal with hay fever and pressing the tissue against his nose not to let the spray drip out. There are just a few cars in the parking lot, and no people within eyeshot, and Patrick has a real chance _to breathe_. The wind is pretty chilly, and Patrick is shaking; he doesn’t want to catch a cold or some shit, so he intends to get back inside to save the remains of his health.

And, of course, Patrick hears too familiar footsteps as soon as he shoves a tiny bottle with spray into the pocket of his jeans.

“Wanna talk?” Pete asks, smiling a little, but there are sparkles of concern in his eyes; even though Patrick avoids Pete’s glance,  _he knows_ how his eyes look when he speaks this tone. _He knows_ things about Pete so well that it’s silly. 

“No? It’s fine, really, and I just have to take my pills, but I don’t have them, and oh, I look like I’m crying, but I am not, it’s just stupid allergy, you know, but I’M NOT CRYING I SWEAR!” Patrick drops his tissue on the ground and covers his blushing face with both his palms, feeling weak and miserable in compare to bassist.

“Hey… Hey, I didn’t mean it,” Pete just hugs him, but Patrick’s heart starts beating a little too fast, his breathing gets a little wheezy like his lungs are on fire, and his eyes are teary in such a suspicious way.

He’s just a-little-too-much in love with Pete Wentz. Short allergic guy who stubbornly refuses to wear glasses, and who sometimes thinks he’s cool, but can’t find the guts to tell the world about it; Pete can. Pete can do this for both of them, for four of them! Pete, who convinced Andy Hurley to join this almost teenage-band, Pete, whose thoughts are oh-so-intricate, and he is ready to show his troubled soul through his metaphorical lyrics.

Patrick doesn’t really want to do it, but he nuzzles Pete’s shoulder and suddenly sniffs again, pretty loud, trying to reach his hand and wipe his nose. It’s not his fault, honestly, it’s just a small flowering lawn under shop’s window and a few big ornamental trees nearby.

“Sorry, it was gross,” Patrick mutters embarrassingly, words are slurry, because his face is still pressed to Pete’s hoodie as Pete doesn’t let him pull away.

“You didn’t do anything gross,” Pete points out, his voice soft, Patrick sighs and gulps down his apologies, thinking there is no reason to say his usual ‘sorry’ right now, when Pete isn’t mad at him.

Or should he just apologize for being allergic?

“I feel terrible,” Patrick confesses almost in a whisper. “I wasn’t in a good shape for singing today, I’m sor…” he pauses, remembering Pete’s statement. “…sure I’ll be better soon.”

“Of course, man,” Pete kisses Patrick’s temple, but Patrick wears his favorite baseball cap not to scare anyone with his ‘I-didn’t-wash-my-hair-for-like-five-days’ hairstyle, so, it looks like Pete kisses Patrick’s hat, knocked at the side, but whatever.

It seems like Andy and Joe got lost somewhere in the labyrinths of the supermarket, but it means they can come back at any moment. Patrick finally lifts his head up, and Pete greets him with his friendly but tired smile /his insomnia kicks his ass successfully/ and leaves a sloppy kiss on Patrick’s ~~wet~~ cheek.

“Woah, thanks?” Patrick utters perplexedly, and his skin still remembers the touch of Pete’s lips even though Patrick pinches that spot just to make sure this is real.  

Pete nods and lets out a small giggle.

“Are you allergic to me?” he inquires, winking.

Patrick gazes at the flowers on the lawn and then, boldly, into Pete’s eyes. Patrick is pretty sure his own eyes don’t look wonderful right now, but Pete beams as he catches his glance.

“No, thank you, I am cured,” Patrick chuckles, wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist.

Pete just kisses him once again.

**Author's Note:**

> i really like sickfics, so why not?!  
> \----  
> all grammar errors are mine, feel free to tell me about them


End file.
